The Secret Monologue

They’d warned me about her – and I really wish I’d listened. She was a flame, burning brighter than all the stars on that winter’s night back in 1923; and I was just a hopeless moth. The elusive Rosa Rouge: singer, dancer, heartbreaker. As soon as she strutted onto the stage, I was in love. I’ve never been the type to take on advice, and back then I was at the height of self-assured arrogance – I’d recently graduated from Cambridge and moved to start working for one of London’s top law firms. I was invincible, the world was at my feet, and nothing could have gone wrong (oh but it did). So when I was told by a friend to avoid Rosa Rouge at all cost, I ignored them, “Relax, I’m just going to her show – she’s something of a celebrity in the States.” …show more content…
She’s a whirlwind, never stayed in one place for more than a night. Just avoid talking to her afterwards, for your own sake. You know what you’re like with girls.” “I’ll be fine, I’m a grown up, I’m sure I can cope with one girl.” But she wasn’t just ‘one girl’: she was solid gold. Of course I was stupid enough to search for her at the end of the show. She sat at the end of the bar, the feather in her hair sticking up like a signal. Surprisingly she was alone – I had expected her to be swarmed with men like myself, hopelessly star stuck. I made my way towards her, heart pounding in my chest. When I reached her I was too in awe to speak, “Hey cutie, what’s your name?” her voice was like sugar, “Jack. Hastings. Jack